


Five Times Pedro Donaldson Gets Locked Out and One Time He Doesn't Give a Fuck

by gurlsrool



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurlsrool/pseuds/gurlsrool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Donaldson has an unfortunate affinity for clowns, a pretty boy who plays the ukulele, and forgetting his keys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Pedro Donaldson Gets Locked Out and One Time He Doesn't Give a Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sky high squad](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sky+high+squad).



> Prompted by everyone's fave canadian natalie w/ "keys," "baseball," and "alpaca." Thanks for everything babe, including ruining my life with this web series to begin with. Trigger warnings in the end notes.

**One**

Peter runs away the day before his seventh birthday. For his sixth birthday he had wanted a clown. He had wanted a Pokemon themed party that was full of confetti and he wanted there to be a clown who made his friends laugh with the honk of a nose. His mother had informed him that if he was a good enough friend he could make people laugh on his own. Sometimes his palms sweat when his friends didn’t laugh. No one noticed. He just made another joke and wiped them on his jeans.

For his seventh birthday he lowered his expectations. No pokeball cake. No rainbow confetti. Just a clown, he had asked. He used his school library’s computer to look up local clowns and paid the librarian to print the page in black and white. He put it on the fridge a month before his birthday and waited, waited, waited. He tried not to be too annoying about it, he didn’t want to bother it out of her, he just wanted to ask nicely.

When his dad left, he didn’t take much with him. Just two suitcases and a duffel bag. Peter wandered into his mother’s room one night afterwards, when he heard loud sobs coming from the center of the bed. He stood silently by her bedroom closet and averted his eyes from his mum. The room was quite bland, he thought. The only splash of color had been the drawing Peter had made for his father for Christmas. It sat on his father’s side of the bed. It was a picture of the two of them, at a baseball game, eating snowcones. He had spent an entire Sunday morning on it. His father had been disappointed that he had drawn himself wearing a pink and purple shirt.

Since his father had left everything behind, his mum purged the house of all its “clutter” as she called it. “Spring cleaning,” she had told Peter, a warm smile pressed on her face. He didn’t mention that it was summer.

She got rid of the family photos he was in. She got rid of his coffee mug, the chipped black one with the white polka dots. She got rid of his suits and his ripped t-shirts. She got rid of the vase he had always put tulips in the morning of her birthday. She got rid of other things too, movies she didn’t watch and books Peter didn’t read. Scraps of paper. The paper Peter had so proudly printed, with a phone number for the funniest clown in Auckland.

Peter figures if he leaves now, the night before his birthday, he can run away with the circus by morning. Then, he can be surrounded by clowns all the time and lions and pretty lights. He likes that idea.

He walks for ten minutes before a neighbor spots him, asks him where his mother is. He’s only spoken to her a few times. She has a nice beagle, he remembers, and a pretty garden of tulips. “I don’t know where she is,” he says, although he knows she hasn’t left her bedroom in a week.

She drags him back to the house and he resists a little but really, he is hungry and kind of has to pee, so he figures stopping for a pitstop might not be bad. When they get back, they find the door to be locked.

“Mum’s probably home,” Peter says, sitting down on the front step. “She’s probably asleep.”

His neighbor rings the doorbell. She knocks. She calls the landline a few times. Eventually, she sighs, shakes her head. “I don’t, um, think it’s a good idea for you to come back to my house Peter,” she says after a moment. A week from now he’ll see his father for the last time in the passenger seat of a moving van, a beagle on his lap. Tonight, Peter just shrugs, like he’s used to it. “Is there maybe… I don’t know, a back window you can crawl through?”

“Yeah.” Peter nods and she purses her lips, drives back home.

He falls asleep in a bush by his mother’s window, uses the ground as a pillow and the leaves as a blanket. He thinks maybe he’ll run away in the morning.

His mother finds him around eight and immediately begins to cry. She makes him a bowl of cereal and takes him to the toy store, buys him a little clown figurine. She doesn’t clean the dirt from his fingernails.

**Two**

Pedro starts going on long walks after the wedding. He always starts not really knowing where he’ll end up and it’s usually nowhere. Sometimes, he’s productive and goes to the library or the ice cream store or Ben’s house. Sometimes, he just walks circles in the neighborhood, looping around, around, around, around.

It’s a Thursday evening and the sun is setting when he sets off. It’s a few hours from rising when he gets back. His shoes are cracking, they’re so worn, and he has a math test in the morning. He figures he should sleep.

He doesn’t realize he’s forgotten his key until he reaches the front door. He pauses before lowering his fist to the door. His step-dad had gotten angry the last time he had woken him up in the middle of the night, by playing music too loud.

He pulls out his phone and calls John and gets an answer after two rings.

He hasn’t called John before, hasn’t texted him even. They had exchanged phone numbers before the wedding, at his mum’s request. In case of emergencies. He figures this is one. It’s not just the phone, he and John haven’t really spoken at all. Pedro’s not sure he could say what color his step-brother’s eyes are if his life depended on it.

“Hello?” his voice sounds foggy.

“It’s Pete-Pedro.” The name is new. Claudio had misheard him when they met and thought he had said Pedro. Everyone thought it was funny. It stuck and he let it. It felt about time for something different and he couldn’t be bothered to buy new shoes. “I’m outside, I’m uh locked out actually. Could you maybe-”

“Oh.” Pedro falls silent and John is silent too.

“Hello?”

“Yeah I um. It’s just that, I’m not home. I’m working on a science project, actually, and I’m just sleeping over. You know how it is so I uh I can’t, I’m afraid. Did you try knocking?”

“That’s alright.” Pedro says, sitting down on the front step. “Thanks anyways.”

“Yeah.”

He falls asleep with his head against the doorframe, wakes up when his stepdad opens it in the morning and he falls backwards. “Still drunk from last night?” he asks, somewhere between amused and aggravated.

Pedro doesn’t respond, just stands up, half asleep, makes his way to his bed where sleep finds him again quickly. He’s not outside to see the light flick on in John’s bedroom window.

**Three**

Pedro gets locked out after his own birthday party. It was a surprise party, at Balthazar’s, his sweet sixteen. He hadn’t been planning on celebrating but Ben had dragged him to Balth’s and everyone was there, hiding behind pieces of furniture. The streamers were pink and the balloons were purple.

When he gets back he realizes he hadn’t grabbed his keys when Ben had come over and physically dragged him out of the house. The minute he reaches into his empty pockets, he finds himself turning around. He doesn’t really think about it, knocking or calling. He walks until he finds himself back at Balth’s. He knocks softly and waits, suddenly realizing that this may be a horrible idea and he should have gone to Ben’s, it’s closer anyways-

Balthazar is wearing pajamas. Not just a t-shirt and boxers but a matching button-up and pair of drawstring pants, littered with little images of clouds and alpacas. Pedro immediately begins to laugh and Balthazar blushes a little, averts his eyes.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Pedro says after a moment, because he realizes Balthazar looks legitimately uncomfortable, like he’s the one intruding at this ungodly hour. “I just um, I’m locked out and I uh… I didn’t wake you up did I?”

“No,” Balthazar shakes his head quickly, “I was just playing a little actually.” He gestures with the ukulele that’s in his right hand. Pedro hadn’t even noticed it. It’s almost an extension of Balthazar at this point so he’s not surprised.

“Something new?” Pedro asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smiles shyly, still refusing to look Pedro in the eyes. “So um, do you need somewhere to sleep or were you just-”

“Oh yeah I mean if you could-”

“Yeah”

“I don’t wanna impose or-”

“No.”

Pedro digs his hands in his pocket, stares intently at Balthazar.

“I mean, no you’re not imposing, just um. Come in.”

Pedro does. He pushes his shoes off and looks around Balthazar’s house. It doesn’t look bad, considering the amount of people who had been packed in tightly not too long before. There are still some balloons and streamers about but other than that it doesn’t look completely trashed.

“Ben and Bea helped me clean up a bit,” Balthazar explains, leading the way to his bedroom. “They bickered the entire time but still, they helped.”

“What is it with the two of them anyways?” Pedro asks, following Balthazar into his room and sitting on his bed while Balthazar quickly clears it of sheet music. “I swear Bea was going to cut Ben’s head off when he didn’t give her a piece of cake with a flower on it.”

“Yeah,” Balthazar chuckles, shuffling the sheets into a little neat stack on his desk, hastily, presumably out of order. Pedro is about to apologize for imposing, again, when Balthazar says “I think they’re in love.”

“Who?” Pedro looks at him and their eyes meet for the first time since his second arrival. Pedro’s the one to look away, quickly shifting focus to Balthazar’s keyboard, intently counting the keys instead of the freckles on Balthazar’s neck, the only ones that are really visible now.

 “Um, Ben and Bea,” Balthazar walks to his dresser, sifting through his top drawer and eventually producing an oversized, torn and faded Mumford & Sons t-shirt. “They’re practically an old married couple, right?”

“Oh.” Pedro nods, shifting uncomfortably at the edge of Balthazar’s bed. “Right.”

Before he can say anything else, Balthazar hands him the t-shirt. “You need something to sleep in, yeah?” Pedro turns the piece of fabric over in his hands in response. “Sorry it’s a little battered. It’s my biggest shirt and I well- I mean we’ve got a bit of a size difference, I don’t mean- uh you’re just-”

“You’re just rather tiny.” Pedro nods, “Thanks Balth. Should I take the couch or…”

“If you want. I mean my bed’s fine good I mean it could be-”

“Couch is fine”

“-cool I mean- oh uh yeah, okay then.”

Pedro nearly smacks himself when he ends up staring at Balthazar’s living room ceiling, wearing his ratty t-shirt, covered by a soft blue blanket. It smells like Balth. Like mint and boy and guitar strings, somehow.

He doesn’t get much sleep so doesn’t refuse the coffee Balthazar places in his palm the next morning, one cream, two sugars, just how he likes it. He doesn’t ask how he knows. He simply drinks it with a slice of toast, folds up the blanket, and thanks Balthazar again.

He doesn’t mean to walk out still wearing Balthazar’s shirt and leave his own behind. He absolutely doesn’t.

**Four**

New Year’s Eve isn’t usually at his house but here they are, mum and step-dad on a cruise to who knows where. The house is full and Pedro doesn’t mind that it will probably be a wreck tomorrow. It’s his last new years in this house and he’s never cared much for it anyways.

Pedro is only half-drunk (or so he tells himself) when he realizes how lonely he is. Pedro is only half-drunk when he sees Meg and some girl pushed up against a wall, practically absorbing each other’s faces. Pedro is only half-drunk when he sees Bea laughing into Ben’s neck. Pedro is only half-drunk when he sees Balthazar in a corner with a boy he only vaguely recognizes. Balthazar is talking animatedly and when Pedro storms past, he gathers that they’re talking about music.

“How much is there to talk about music, really,” Pedro mutters to himself as he stands in the kitchen, throwing back another beer. “Why can’t you just play it or sing it or what-fucking-ever,” he crushes the empty beer can in his hand and grabs another. “Why do you need to- to talk about-”

“Pedro?” John asks, sizing him up carefully. Things are better between the two of them. Not perfect but better. Still so cautious, but better. “are you okay?” he asks and even “half-drunk” Pedro can tell he’s genuinely worried.

“Just… peachy!” he exclaims, grabbing two more beers and running out the door in the kitchen, collapsing on the grass in the backyard. He stares at the stars when the clock strikes midnight. He’s too tired to make it to the door, he tells himself. It’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss somebody, it’s just that he doesn’t know who he would want to- or who he’s supposed to want to or-

“Fuck.” he grumbles to himself. He can hear cheering inside. He’s too tired to even turn over, look in the window, he tells himself. If he did, he could maybe see Meg and that blonde, continuing to make out into the new year, or John grinning, celebrating quietly on the edge of things, or Hero, pressing a chaste kiss onto Claudio’s lips, or Balthazar and- “Fuck.”

**Five**

It’s nearly three by the time Peter stumbles up the front steps to the flat, another set of arms wrapped around him. “Stop,” Peter laughs as the man kisses his cheek, trailing his lips over his chin. The man has a beard and he feels heavy. Peter’s head feels heavy. Come to think of it his tongue does too.

His fingers feel light when he shoves them in his pocket, shuffling around. He pulls out a gum wrapper.

“Shit,” he mutters, grabbing his back pocket for his phone.

“What’s wrong?” the man- Todd? Tom? - whispers, not bringing his lips up from Peter’s skin.

“Forgot my keys,” he mutters, sending a quick text to Balthazar, hoping he’s still up. He’s usually up. He gets upset with Peter for being out late but it’s not exactly like he’s in bed sleeping by 8 pm in his fucking button-up pajamas. If Peter thought about it, he’d realize that Balthazar hasn’t been sleeping much lately, but he doesn’t think, not really, not then at least.

If he did think then, he would have texted Ben instead.

“That’s okay,” the man begins to press his lips against Peter’s neck, kissing at first, quickly escalating to biting. “Out here is fine.”

He’s not sure the man even notices when the door swings open. He certainly sees no need to move from their current position, although Peter shifts quickly, tries his best to push him off. Balthazar is still fully dressed, in jeans and a hoodie.

“Alright then,” Balthazar says, after a moment of staring and Peter quickly shakes the man off and charges after Balthazar, his date hot on his heels.

“I’m um-” Peter begins to say and Balthazar stops in front of his bedroom door, facing the wood, fiddling absently with the knob. “I’m sorry Balth.”

“Don’t be Ped- Peter.” Balthazar says, finally flinging his bedroom door open. “I was up anyways.”

“That’s not what-” he closes the door behind him, softly. Peter sends the man home after an hour or two. He’s tired, he tells himself. He’s tired, he tells his flatmates the next morning. Balthazar places a cup of coffee (one cream and two sugars) in front of him and mutters something Peter can’t quite catch.

“What was that?”

He’s already halfway out the door when he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t forget your keys tonight.”

He doesn’t.

**One**

Pedro stumbles up the door to the flat, head spinning. “Fuck,” he mutters, shuffling through his pockets. “My keys…” he stumbles for his phone and punches out the words “Come to Door” to Balthazar lazily.

“Why did you just text me?” Balthazar laughs, not nearly as drunk as Pedro, arm slung around his shoulder. “I’m right here.”

“Good,” Pedro grins. “Right where I like you,” he turns and sloppily kisses his boyfriend on the lips. Balthazar laughs against him, kissing him back with a little more focus and precision. It’s like that when they’re sober too and he loves it.

“I don’t think I have my key either,” Balthazar says, pulling his lips back but keeping his face close, Pedro’s arms still wrapped around his waist. “Freddie and Ben are still back at the bar. We left a little too early.”

“I just wanted to be with youuuu,” Pedro whines, sitting down in front of the door, pulling Balthazar into his lap. “And I got my wish so it’s all just… peachy Balthazar Jones.”

“If you say so Pedro Donaldson,” Balthazar chuckles, leaning his head on his shoulder. “Happy birthday Pete.”

“Happy day Balthy,” Pedro grins, pulling Balth closer, using his boyfriend’s body as a blanket and his head as a pillow. He reaches up suddenly, with hands that feel sort of disconnected from the rest of his body and honks Balthazar’s nose. “Oh.” he mutters as Balthazar’s eyebrows crinkle. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Balthazar laughs and the two drift off in each other’s arms. Pedro has never slept better.

**Author's Note:**

> tw for alcohol use, strong language, and abandonment, implied infidelity, and dysfunctional families. I kinda just made shit up about Pedro's family so it may contradict canon, who knows. Thanks for reading! Special shout out to Katie and Natalie for all the love and support and general loveliness. Hmu 2 talk nmtd or anything else, gayremus on tumblr!


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